Koethe and the others made their way to the headquarters--an old bunker, built a hundred years ago. The small cement bunker was barely tall enough to stand in, maybe 30 feet in diameter and currently full of supplies and equipment deemed too valuable to store in tents outside, due to the storm. Two cells had been built in the back for prisoners.
General Godwin and his two officers stood there, over a small electronic version of a map, showing Rhashan and the Stony Dunes.
"Decided to show up, did you?" asked Godwin.
"Had trouble with our airship," lied Koethe. "The sand plays havoc with the systems." That much was true.
"While you've been playing around, we've set up our troops for attack. Everything is in place." Godwin stood there in his black and olive uniform, with his gloves on, ready to walk into an impossible situation. His second, Chief Nyan and his second, Chief Montani, stood behind him.
Koethe took a deep breath. "You can't do this," he said.
"Can't I?" countered Godwin.
"The storm is too dangerous. We have to withdraw."
"I'm not a coward like you," said Godwin.
"You are condemning all those men to death," said Koethe.
"Some of them are women," Montani smoothly corrected.
"Even more reason!" snapped Koethe.
Godwin picked up a small paper readout. "This is yours, I believe," he said, holding it up. "An order from you to disregard my commands?"
Koethe quelled the sense of panic that ran through his body. Godwin knew. Someone under him had betrayed him.
"Those militia are under my command, not yours," said Koethe.
"Not anymore," said the General. "You are relieved of command. And I'm putting you under temporary arrest."
Arrest. The thing Koethe feared. General Godwin had that power. It was over. Twenty years of command rendered useless--whether the battle was won or lost.
Koethe stared at Godwin. That he would use that power at a time like this, on a world that he didn't understand, was madness.
"Chief Montani will lead your militia," said Godwin. "She, at least, has the balls for an operation such as this."
Montani gave Koethe a look of satisfaction.
"Chief Nyan, you will man the command center and guard them," he nodded at Koethe and his men, as though they were some sort of disease. "And once the battle starts, give the signal to attack the clan homes."
Nyan nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."
With one last glance at Koethe, General Godwin left. Montani followed. The bunker held seven soldiers to Koethe and his three men. Possibly, they could take them, but an attack on an officer such as Chief Nyan would be unforgivable. It would be an executable offense. There was nothing to be done.
Chief Nyan took a few steps towards Koethe. The soldiers in the room drew their guns--as did Nyan. "I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons, sir."
Simultaneously, Richt, Becnand and Fauke drew their guns and aimed them at the soldiers in a standoff.
Nyan was younger than Koethe by a decade. Koethe was sure that he'd seen more combat than the young soldier. Perhaps he could take him, but it would be a useless gesture.
"Do as he says," Koethe commanded his men. Carefully, he unhooked his own gun from his belt and dropped it on the ground near Nyan. With some hesitation, the others also complied. Dropping their weapons.
"Thank you," said Nyan, sincerely. Koethe liked Nyan. He was a sensible man and Koethe didn't blame him for Godwin's mad plan. He was only following orders. "Secure them," he told his men. "And put them in the cells."
Koethe watched silently as his men were rounded up and handcuffed. The soldiers led them to the cells.
"You may stay," said Nyan to Koethe, putting his gun away.
"Thank you," murmured Koethe, turning his attention to the map on the table. It showed a satellite map of the area around Rhashan and troops positions. Even now, the sandstorm blurred some of the map and shorted the whole thing out for a few seconds at regular intervals.
"The attack has begun," said a communications officer with a headset.
Nyan nodded.
"I'm getting a lot of interference," said the man.
"It's the sandstorm," said Koethe. "You have no idea how deadly they can be here."
Nyan spared a glance at Koethe but said nothing.
"Can you really carry out orders to attack their clan homes?" pressed Koethe. "Will you have the blood of innocent women and children on your head?"
"The orders come from General Godwin. I don't make such decisions." So precise. Following orders to the letter.
"It's wrong and you know it," said Koethe. Nyan turned away, as if not listening. Koethe scowled in consternation.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Moorhen and his clan sisters and brothers crossed through the Graench Peak and on to Burnt Forest Pass. Not daring even to rest, they continued through the night, finally stopping at dawn. By then the storm had begun. Winds began to tear at them and their beasts.
Missa jumped off her yithhe and helped Crysethe down. Moorhen had been riding with Derish all night. Their yithhe looked near exhaustion.
“We have to rest,” said Mirrhia. “The animals can’t take this pace.”
“But what about the home clan--what about the children?” asked Moorhen, sitting down. All he could think of the past 20 hours was soldiers breaking into the tsirvak and shooting the children. Their dead bodies littered around the floor, left to rot. He stood and paced.
“Crysethe,” said Derish. “Help out my eyes.”
The girl ran over to her uncle and peered out at the plains below. Dawn was here. The sun would rise soon. And they were still a day and a half away from home.
“Over there?” asked Crysethe.
“Yes, that cloud,” said Derish.
She nodded. “Yes, it is a sandstorm. A huge one. And it’s headed straight for us.”
Everyone looked solemn. They’d hoped they could outrun the sandstorm. Once it hit, they would be stuck here for at least a day, maybe longer. It would make travel impossible.
Moorhen stared at the horizon a moment. Then he put his pack back on and headed for Derish’s yithhe. “I’ll keep going, perhaps I can outrun it.”
He was ready to mount the yithhe but Derish stopped him. “You can’t, Moorhen.”
“I can. I’ll ride hard. We still have hours ‘til the storm hits.”
“You won’t make it,” argued Keilah. “It’s too late.”
“I can try,” said Moorhen, but Derish put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“No, not on this yithhe. The beast is spent.” Moorhen looked down at the panting animal. “You’ll kill it and you’ll end up alone in the desert. No, Moorhen stay here.”
Derish stared solemnly at Moorhen.
“But … the troops … what about our home?”
“I don’t know,” said Derish. “But there’s nothing we can do now. They may have been there already.”
Moorhen tried to dispel the image of his family wounded and near death at the hands of General Godwin’s marksmen. He closed his eyes.
“You’ve been through a lot, Moorhen. You’ve done well,” said Derish.
Moorhen shook his head. “But, it may not be enough.”
They searched for a firecave for shelter and found one at the base of the next ridge. It wasn’t large but it was deep enough to get them out of the sandstorm and had two entrances, in case one got buried.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Slowly the minutes dragged by in the command bunker outside of Rhashan. Godwin had arrested Koethe and relieved him of command. His officers were imprisoned. Koethe himself had been spared the indignity of being shackled and put in a cell.
Koethe stood near Chief Nyan in the Command bunker watching the progress of the troops on the small computer table that served as a map. Koethe's men still sat in the cells, under arrest.
The last two decades, Koethe had such glorious plans for Garran. He would
become the governor. He would make a name for himself and his descendants. Garran had great potential, if the conflicts would ever stop.
But now Koethe had been relieved of command. He'd be lucky if they didn't drag him back home in chains for a court martial. The thing that upset him the most was that either way, if they forced him off the planet then he may never see Asta again. His daughter would be stuck at the center of a civil war that was spiraling out of control. Would they even search for her?
It broke his heart.
He realized that he had been cold to her over the years. Had he pushed her away? He should have reached out to her more. Would that have hurt his dignity so much? Was he waiting for her to say she'd been wrong?
But the winds now tore at the camp outside, constantly howling. Every time the door opened, sand blew in every direction. Nyan and his six soldiers were ill at ease under the circumstances.
The bunker quietly awaited word about the advancing troops. Blackouts on the computer satellite became more frequent and lasted longer as the storm approached. Radio communication also became more and more difficult.
Nyan frowned at the computer map as it blacked out again. Helplessly, they waited for it to come back on. Koethe kept his tongue. He'd already explained to Nyan how bad these storms could get--the blackouts, the communication failures, the damage the sand itself could do to a man, not to mention equipment.
But Nyan was General Godwin's man and he had his orders. He would hold the bunker and would only act on orders from General Godwin.
"It's been two hours," said Koethe, restlessly.
"They're on foot in the desert. The approach will take time."
"They'll never make it," said Koethe. "Garran nor Chanden." He waved at hand at the black computer screen.
"Any word?" asked Nyan to one of his men.
"Nothing, sir. It's dead." His eyes held fear.
Nyan nodded but wasn't one to back down. "The General said to hold this position, then back him up." Part of the militia had been left behind at the Command center, held in reserve to fly in at the last minute via airship.
A sigh escaped Nyan. "Have the men load up in the airships. We have to send them now."
Koethe took a step closer. "Are you insane? You'll be sending them to their deaths!"
"I have my orders," said Nyan. "And order the auxiliary units to begin their attacks on the clan homes." Nyan had delayed this order this long.
"You can't," said Koethe, stepping towards Nyan. Several guards drew the guns and pointed them at Koethe. He stopped.
Nyan simply stared at him.
Gritting his teeth, Koethe took a few steps away. The situation was impossible. He suspected that a lot of the soldiers who'd left were already dead. But there was no way to confirm this. And Nyan's pedantic nature made the situation impossible.
"I'm getting a lot of interference," complained the communications officer.
Good.
Just then a soldier broke through the door from outside, letting in a blast of fine sand and wind. "Sir," the man said. "The storm is headed this way. I can see it."
Nyan looked calmly at him. "We're aware of the situation. You have orders. Carry them out."
The man stared at Chief Nyan, then looked over to Koethe, as in appeal. He was met with silence. Deflated, he replied. "Yes, sir." He turned and left, causing a swirl of sand when he opened the door.
"You should go look at it," said Koethe.
"I can see it on the computer," he said, but as they glanced at the screen, it was still blank. Nyan frowned again.
"Come see it," said Koethe. "Look at what you're sending your men into."
Nyan's face was stoic, but the Koethe could see the worry in his eyes. Finally, he relented. "Very well," he went to the doors and opened them. Koethe followed close behind.
They climbed up the stone stairway and out into the open air.
At noonday, the sky had blackened with clouds so that it looked like sunset. Snatches of red from the sun bled through at the edges of the sand clouds.
A fierce wind ripped through the camp, threatening to uproot every tent, many of which had been secured with cement blocks. Men ran here and there, trying to make preparations. In the distance, the airships were loading up but the wind drowned out even the sound of their engines.
And to the west, from the very direction Nyan had ordered the airships to fly, a wall of loose-flying sand a hundred feet high made its way towards the camp like a tidal-wave threatening a beach.
Nyan's eyes went wide at the sight. Slowly the wave crept towards them, like a doom. The sky grew steadily darker as they watched. The sight of the sandstorm sent a deep-rooted fear into even a seasoned veteran of Garran such as Koethe.
The storm would kill them all.
For a moment, Nyan stuttered, wordless. Then he turned to his officer. "Cancel the attack!" he said. "Order a retreat. Send it to all the troops! Get them out."
"Yes, sir," said the man.
"Have everyone retreat to Drealea!"
Relief spread over Koethe. Sanity, at last. He only hoped it was not too late. "And the attack on the clan homes?" pressed Koethe.
Nyan nodded. "Send word. Cancel the auxiliary attacks as well. All units should withdraw."
"Yes, sir," the soldier replied.
"Leave the tents," Nyan instructed another soldier. "Just load up the men."
All the remaining soldiers ran towards the airships. A few officers scrambled up out of the bunkers, carrying the computer equipment. It became a mad scramble for the airships as the storm crept ever closer, towering over them, ready to wash over the camp any moment.
Koethe's men were taken from the bunker, still prisoners, and loaded in the airships. Koethe waited with Nyan till the last moment then they ran for one of the last airships, just escaping the wrath of the desert.
On the airship, as it slipped safely away. Koethe let his mind go back to his daughter, stuck out there somewhere in the desert. He felt a despair at the thought. There was nothing he could do for her.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Turquoise, sea-green, burnt orange.
Things Chanden took the gods awhile to understand. Slowly, they comprehended and accepted many ideas that Asta had taken for granted.
With Asta's knowledge, the Chanden were no longer alien--unknown. They could be dealt with.
Things Borrai also took awhile to understand. Asta struggled to accept their ideas, many of which were strange. Some of which were wonderful.
And so many memories. A millennia of history began to unfold to her. The origins of the ruined Borrai cities, the rise of the Clans, the taming of the winds.
Blue, green, yellow.
The Outsiders had trespassed on the land long enough. The earth took its revenge, stilling their factories, chasing out the invaders from the fields and the wilderness that they threatened to destroy. The winds blew, the waves crashed. The most aggressive of both Chanden invaders and Garran clans had been swallowed by the sandstorm in the desert. Laid waste by the wind.
The remaining Chanden began to withdraw from the places the gods had chosen to protect.
Slowly, the gods' anger subsided.
Borrai-Asta walked through the most desolate places of the desert, past the corpses of Chanden. Past the corpses of Garran. A thousand of them. Those who had attempted to fight their war.
She paused and gazed out over the endless stretch of desert--her eyes a deep and glowing blue.
The last of her dread vanished and turned to peace.
The gods, who had become wise, would not again be banished from Garran.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The sandstorm lasted a night and a day. Moorhen waited for the end without patience. And without hope. They were too late. Whatever had befallen the tsirvak, had already happened. All they could do was to go see the damage.
Towards evening, Crysethe returned from the entrance where she’d spent hours watching.
“The storm is break
ing,” said Crysethe. They all ran up there. It was true. As quickly as it had struck, the storm ended. A patch of blue sky could be seen in the distance.
“Let’s pack up,” said Moorhen, heading back to grab his stuff. No one wasted any time. Minutes later, they were ready to go. They loaded up the yithhe, which had been shelters at the front of the cave.
Traveling at night was actually better than traveling during the day, because it was cooler. The last clouds cleared up and the stars appeared.
All night they rode through the desert towards the tsirvak, and several hours into the next day. One thing Moorhen dreaded about going home--Norbi would not be there. He was the one family member that Moorhen knew he would never see in the clan home again.
Finally, the water towers came into view. They had made it to the Sand Plain Clan tsirvak.
Moorhen whistled and spurred his yithhe towards to entrance to the cave. Yithhe are not very light on their feet; even when they run--it’s closer to a fast lumber. Crysethe passed up Moorhen on her own yithhe, arriving at the door before Moorhen.
Already, there were warning signs. The Sand Plain banners were slashed. Missa’s potted plants lay scattered in pieces at the entrance. There were signs of destruction.
Moorhen slid off his yithhe and had his bow in hand when he followed Crysethe into the tsirvak. He had no idea what to expect, but braced himself for the worst.
They ran to the first sitting room. Pots were smashed on the floor. Plates broken. Stools lay strewn in pieces. Numb, Moorhen strode through the wreckage. He kicked a broken stool. “I can’t believe the Chanden did this!”
Mirrhia and Derish strode through the room, examining the situation.
“If they’d just left me here, instead of dropping me off at the Desert Wind Clan cave, then we could have saved our clan,” said Moorhen, pained at the thought. Why hadn’t Koethe protected the clan home? Surely he knew that Moorhen couldn’t make it back in time.
The Gods of Garran Page 24